This story has been on my computer for a long, long, long while! Between beta problems and author blocks, I thought I'd never post it! But at last here you are!

So this is my view of Draco and Bella's relationship, from their first meeting (at least the first he remembers ;D) to her death. NO INCEST! Normal aunt/nephew relationship. Well, normal for them...

It's entirely in Draco's pov so far, I don't think that will change.

I'd like to dedicate this fic to my Bellatrix-addicted friends: to xoxLewrahxox and Bellatrix Le Fey, who should have been my betas but never had the time :( , to Xx Starlight-Moon xX for her support and her help to find the precise script of some scenes in English, and to all my other friends whose Bellatrix stories are unbelievably amazing: xDoubleIndemnity, Victory87, The Silly Frog, Mrs Bella Riddle, SlytherinFlower... You can find links to all these girls' profiles, among others, on mine!

Review me please? This fic means a lot to me... My first long English fic!

Btw, I'm French and I should have had a beta but my beta girls were so busy I finally dropped the idea... So if you spot any mistakes, let me know!

Draco felt humiliated; ending up spending a couple of hours under the shape of a big, fat, revolting slug wasn't really his way of seeing a good revenge. He also felt aggravated, furious, hurt, fearful and very, very determined.

Against all the odds, his mother had managed to find him, change him back and get him out of the train in time, and he was now walking by her side in long strides, his cheeks bright pink and his wounded pride stinging. How strange to be alone with her, not to have to act calm and dignified for his father's sake. How Lucius would have hated to have to rescue his slug-transfigured son, how ashamed he would have felt, how harshly he would have reproached Draco his carelessness and his defeat. But all the sharp words he would have said Draco spoke to himself within his mind, as if those principles had only really taken him in when he didn't have a model under his eyes anymore. And he walked quickly, hiding his boiling feelings as well as he could, feigning calm and dignity. He had to grow up now, he thought. He would stand to his father's level and make him proud. He would be powerful. Strong. Respected.

But he still felt helpless as a little child when Narcissa took his arm softly and the feeling of Apparation overwhelmed him.

Then they were in the drive, through the gates, and they were home. How big and empty the manor yards looked now, Lucius' white peacocks wandering aimlessly, dizzily on the hedges, feeling empty and lost from their owner's disappearance. Draco suddenly wanted to slap himself. These stupid birds certainly didn't have a clue that Lucius was gone. They were totally brainless. As long they still got fed by the elves, they wouldn't notice it if the house burnt down. Though one could think they would have grown wary of fire; when he was little, just starting magic, he loved to set their wings on fire, and his father would scold him, ground him to his room, buy a few more peacocks to replace the damaged and order the elf to cook them said damaged at dinner. Peacock meat tasted just like chicken. How convenient.

He was acting foolish; giving them a mind of their own and some kind of sadness! Even the gates were probably more perceptive. He had been more mature when trying to turn them into a bonfire. He pondered taking some of his anger out on them later in the evening, but decided against it. His mother would be hurt. It would be childish again. And moreover, he was in no mood for peacock meat.

They were in now, the lights blinding him after the dark blue night outside. Their family manor: so huge, so ostentatuous, amazing wealth appearing in every detail. In this giant golden nest of a house, among the calm, dignified portraits that hardly ever moved they were alone, he and his mother, two weak beings deprived of their family leader...or a calm, sad but strong woman with her grown and powerful son, if he decided to do something worthy of himself.

But were they so alone?

In the bright lights of the hall his white-blond hair and his mother's golden one shone with sunny shimmer, but when you went away from the entrance, on to the core of the house, it was darker – a nice rest for his pale eyes – and there was a dark shadow to be seen among countless others, a tall, skinny, dark shadow with messy dark hair, and a pale, pale face with coal-black eyes aimed straight at him.

And then he blinked, and the silhouette disappeared.